


Sweet Rot

by Radikal, Taikeero_Lecoredier



Series: Honeymoon [1]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: (as in a shit ton of them actually), (because of daisy but she'll only appear in one chapter), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Body Horror, Bugs & Insects, Canon-Typical Worms (The Magnus Archives), M/M, Trypophobia, Use of Gun, gore n gross ahoy, i mean its the corruption so you'll have to expect a couple of gross bugs im afraid, let us know if were missing tags, martin/michael isnt the biggest focus of the fic but its present, non consensual transformation i guess ?, theres a bunch of holesssss in bodies
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-05
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-18 00:47:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29850033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Radikal/pseuds/Radikal, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Taikeero_Lecoredier/pseuds/Taikeero_Lecoredier
Summary: "His skin writhed beneath her grip. Her question echoed in his mind, and his throat itched to answer. Martin Blackwood uttered out his last word. Much like him, it was simple.Pitiful."A story in which Martin Blackwood gets claimed by the Corruption and wishes to share the Hive's love.(Make sure to read the warnings before reading)
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Michael Shelley, Martin Blackwood/Michael | The Distortion
Series: Honeymoon [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2194554
Comments: 6
Kudos: 5





	1. Home

**Author's Note:**

> So this is a collaboration between me and my good friend @Radikal, in which Martin gets claimed by the corruption,and much more shenanigans take place!  
> Big thanks to our buddy Blackwood @Deanpala for beta reading this and giving me the idea to write about corruption Martin :)  
> Before you jump in, here are some clarifications !  
> -The institute already suffered an attack from jane prentiss, but she wasnt neutralized (and was kinda forgotten about ig ? we dont really pay too much attention to super precise details lmao)  
> -Happens sometimes in season 1-2 I guess ? Jon was still a bich to his coworkers regardless  
> -Michael and Gertrude work at the same time as the tma gang  
> -Michael has a crush on Martin in this au  
> -Daisy left the police WAYYY earlier than canon  
> -The tma gang is already aware of the existance of some of the fears and know how some of them operates
> 
> With that out of the way,make sure to read all the warnings, and we hope you enjoy !

How long has it been?   
  


Martin lost his sense of time when Jane Prentiss had trapped him in his own home. The first few days were not too bad. Yes, the power was, and still is, cut, but it was bearable. He carefully rationed his food for the first few days so hunger wasn't really a problem; but he had underestimated how long he'd be confined in there. Without any power, and the loss of his phone, there was no way he could contact the outside. Still, after all this time, he hoped someone would have realized he hasn't showed up in so long and would check up on him. 

Perhaps they did.   
  


Perhaps they did and got infected with… whatever was standing in front of his door right now. Martin had gone through any books and writings he owned twice. Or more. He lost the exact count. He even resorted to reading his old poems, which he would usually cringe at when reading. He was desperate to have any sort of distraction while Prentiss was trapping him there.

  
It has been impossible to tell how long the days have been. After barricading his window with towels and furniture just in case to keep the worms at bay, (never mind the fact that his flat was on the third story), it was impossible to gauge the time.

  
He was starting to question his own sanity. 

He guessed it was around the third week that he had run out of food. Even those dreaded canned peaches he got sick of eating were now gone. The final scrape at the bottom of the last can of peaches he had been avoiding back then was more soul shattering than he anticipated. With a frustrated grunt, the tin was tossed aside and left to clatter on the ground. Martin slumped to the ground and cried.  
  
Oddly enough, he never heard her trying to break the door down. He wondered if she truly was an empty husk, with no muscles or nerves, so fragile she would just break if she tried forcing the door. Martin does not like how he's starting to keep thinking about her recently. Sometimes, he swears he hears a voice coming from his door. Sometimes a call, other times like a melody being hummed. 

  
Was it the song of the hive she originally referred to in her statement? 

He does his best to dive back into the pamphlets he had already read, almost memorizing them by heart by now. But he feels himself getting more and more exhausted. It’s getting harder for him to not fall asleep when he hears her knocking.   
  


This is getting to his brain.  
  


Now all Martin could do was divide the days up as best as he could by his horrid sleep schedule.

Two days later (he assumed), Martin began to write. It distracted him from the pangs of hunger, and god knew that he was desperate to vent. But the more he scribbled down his unfiltered thoughts, the more he realized how pitiful this all was. What was he even doing? He knew he was doomed. So why was he still determined to live... Especially like this? What reason could he possibly have to keep going? Would anyone even miss him?   
  


Before his mind could supply him with a cold "no", something else interrupted his thoughts. Michael. Michael was out there still. Probably in the hospital still, sure, but he was still _out there_ . Martin knew he wasn't a smart man, contrary to his CV, but he was willing to entertain the thought that there was at least one person out there that actually cared about him. When the knocking came again, followed by a gentle hum of a song, Martin forced his mind to wander to him being with his friend again.   
  


He had to make it out.   
  


With a heavy sigh, he tosses his head back to press against the wall and waits for a miracle. Instead, he gets a knock at his door.

  
  
Each time this woman knocks, it feels like an echoing headache. How he wished she would just stop-- this is making him insane. 

How easy would it be to just..end this if he simply opened the door? 

Martin mentally slapped himself when he realized what the hell he just started to ponder about. 

There was absolutely no _bloody way_ he'd let that thing in. No way. 

At least, not willingly. Martin tried his best to block his ears whenever he heard that dreadful knock again. He tried his best to miserably keep his mind busy ,anything that could, even briefly, make him forget about the monster waiting to pounce on him outside his door. 

He started to think about Michael again. How they'd always spend their break time together. Exchanging tips for how to make the best tea. Venting to each other about Gertrude and Jon respectively. Michael was always so sweet. Out of the others,he always felt like he was the best at understanding him. He remembered he even offered him a sweater for his birthday. Said he knitted it himself. He remembers keeping it safe in his wardrobe. 

He wondered if he should wear it. 

Perhaps that will be his sole source of comfort knowing ultimately how he was going to end. Eaten by worms before he could starve to death, perhaps--

  
Before his thoughts spiralled any further, Martin decided to get up and splash his face with water. 

He wondered what was worse, dying of hunger or by dehydration. 

Feeling the cold water did not have the desired effect of keeping his mind mostly awake,he realized how tired he was and decided to go to bed, not caring anymore if it was 3 in the morning or even noon. It's not like it mattered at this point.  
With a dejected look on his face,he headed over to his bed and laid down on it.

  
  


Martin doesnt remember when he fell asleep. 

He felt something slimy squirm on his legs and arms. He started to stir, but an oddly familiar tune kept pulling him in his dream world . 

  
A world where he was not trapped inside his own home.

But the feeling of the growing mass writhing on his limbs grew, and his eyes suddenly shot wide open, his half awake brain suddenly registering the possible danger.

Martin wished he had kept his eyes closed.Or that the sickeningly sweet tune he kept hearing lulled him back to a deeper sleep. 

The monster he spent several days,weeks to keep at bay had straddled him. And she was hunched over his face,with her pierced hands cradling his face in a strange softness he never felt before. Not even his own mother would tenderly hold his face like that when he was a child.

Martin doesn't know what he wants to do. 

Scream? 

His throat felt like it closed on itself. 

Struggle? 

He can't feel his limbs anymore. 

Martin suddenly started to sob,a half choked gasp escaping his throat. 

It was pathetic,he knew,but he didn't care anymore. if he was going to die,then he might as well do it humanely.

Tears rolled down his cheeks,and Prentiss brushed a tear away with her thumb. 

The sensation of a skin full of holes against his soft, still warm flesh felt entirely too wrong. 

" **It's all over now. You won't have to be in pain anymore. You had friends, but they've abandoned you. The Hive has pity for you. And so much Love, too.** " 

Her... voice scrapes at his ears. He cries more, his nerves from his limbs probably too damaged from the worms to even feel the pain. He does not dare to look at them.

Instead, he finds himself unable to turn his gaze away from Prentiss's face. Covered in holes.Too many to count. So many. 

Worms started pouring down her face. 

  
" **You won't ever have to feel alone now. The Hive has so much love for Her children. It sensed the mark of the Lonely within you. Let Her consume you.** "   
  
The worms kept falling,and black liquid oozed from her hollow eyes. 

Martin started to gag and choke,his throat obstructed and his chest spasming uncontrollably. His survival instincts suddenly started to kick in,and he tried to shake Prentiss off. 

But it was way too late for that.  
  


A scream was forced out of him as he felt something dig into his stomach. Well, it would've been a scream, but it came out more of a wet gargle as something tasting of rot and iron pooled in his mouth. He felt it dribble down his mouth, soaking into his now worm-eaten clothes. Jane's pitted hands tilted his face to get a better look at her work. She hummed in admiration, and Martin wished that he didn't find that comforting. 

**"It always escapes my memory, you know. How disgusting it is to witness someone be embraced by Her love for the first time. How beautiful it is to watch and listen to someone be overwhelmed by their rotten souls."**

Martin felt something grubby drag itself across the tear tracks on his face before digging into his cheek. 

His skin crawled, and Christ, did it itch. He wished so desperately that he could move, but the most he could do was squirm and writhe in agony. 

...Squirm. 

Why did that- why did that awful word sit so _well_ with him? Why did it make sense? 

**"You can feel it now, can't you? The thrum of hundreds of organs and veins within you? They are swarming. Dancing and filling you with a new, diseased purpose. You are horribly broken and imperfect, and so worthy of Her love."**

Martin could barely register his body shaking... he wasn't sure if it was actually him doing so or if it was simply the worms inside him, claiming him as their new home. 

All he could do was gurgle out a _"S-stop, please..."_ Before choking and spluttering once more.

He cringed as some of the dark liquid splattered across her face due to the proximity. But what was even more disturbing was the fact that Prentiss seemed to be _happy_ about it. **"Can you hear their song?"** She asked slowly. 

His heart stuttered at the question, and Martin was confused by what she meant.

His eyes scanned his attacker wildly, desperate to find anything that would help him understand Jane's cryptic inquisition. 

Martin's vision became impaired by dozens of small bodies crawling on and over the lenses of his crooked glasses. He screwed his eyes shut, though he was well aware that his eyelids would do little to save him from this torture. 

That's when he encountered a moment of clarity. 

Though the rest of his senses were swarmed with discomfort, Martin was able to pinpoint one thing: A beautiful crescendo of buzzing. And it demanded his full attention. It was… beautiful. 

Familiar, even. 

Martin let himself focus on the song that thrummed within his skull, finding relief in the fact that it almost distracted him from the dull pain. Almost. It was loving and welcoming and... terrifying. 

The wriggling harmonized wonderfully with it, and he snapped back into the realization that _no, he should not feel loved. He should feel afraid, he should be afraid of- of..._

...Afraid of never hearing it again. 

But somehow, Martin knew their music wouldn't leave him for a long while. The sound soothed every twitching limb and hammering blood vessel until Martin blearily registered how painfully tired he was. Somewhere in his mind, he heard thousands of sweet voices encouraging him to rest. 

As he felt his consciousness finally leave him, he felt those cold hands trail down his arms to gently take his own and squeeze them. His skin writhed beneath her grip. Her question echoed in his mind, and his throat itched to answer. Martin Blackwood uttered out his last word. Much like him, it was simple. Pitiful. 

His new friends were delighted to hear it. 

  
_"Yes."_ _  
_


	2. Warm Tea

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So fair warning,this chapter gets gross because...duh,corruption shenanigans  
> Lots of body horror,holes,and bugs,and so on  
> Its longer than the first chapter,hope you enjoy this wild one !

"Are you sure you'll be alright on your own? You could have friends come pick you up." 

"No no, I think, uhm, they'll be fine without me waking them up at such late hours. My home's nearby anyway." 

It was late in the evening and Michael had finally been released from the hospital which he was stuck in for almost a month. It turns out volunteering to get more information on a statement about the Hunt  _ on your own _ wasn't exactly the brightest idea. He just wanted to fill in the gaps that were left from the received statement.

Luckily, he had gotten in contact with Daisy before wandering on his own, figuring she'd know a thing or two about the Hunt. This might well have saved his life, as the person he tried interviewing turned out to be an avatar of the Hunt, and was not exactly pleased with an archival assistant trying to snoop around, per say. They did a pretty nasty number on him. He would rather not remember this, but he is pretty sure the doctors told him he got a concussion from having his head bashed (supposedly against a tree, if he recalls correctly,) which then sent him into a coma. At least he thinks that's what they said. While the doctors were explaining to him what they treated him for once he was awake, he had to take a look while the nurses were currently busy changing his bandages.

  
They had removed the previous bandages from his body and revealed how his shoulder and chest were covered in almost healed, large scars, very reminiscent of claw marks, before adding new, clean bandages over them.

The nurse also unwrapped quite a thick bandage around his neck, a large scar in the shape of a bite mark around his neck, before repeating the same procedure as before.

  
The doctor deemed this as a result of a violent animal attack. Michael was not about to correct them. He was told to be extremely lucky to have survived such an encounter. The doctor said it was a certain Daisy Tonner who saved him, adding that she kind of dropped him before having to leave immediately after. 

  
"Must have been a terrific hunter," They said before adding, "You’re lucky that she managed to get to you when she did. That attack caused you to lose an important amount of blood. You’ve recovered well, but there’s still some things we’d like you to keep track of while you recover.” He watched as they flipped through their clipboard, scanning through their notes dutifully.

“The blood loss has given you an iron deficiency, so you will need to take the meds I have prescribed for you. In addition, being bedridden for so long has atrophied your muscles, so I would like for you to take every precaution necessary to avoid any activities that would cause you to strain them too much. Most importantly, I advise you to not do anything that would cause your wounds open again. Is that clear?" 

  
Michael struggled to take in the amount of information dumped on him, but he nodded anyways. He wasn’t planning on going against his doctor’s orders. “Good. Now, we’ll fill out the papers for your discharge, and you should be free to go from there!”

Michael gave his thanks, and when it came time to leave, he relished the feeling of breathing in fresh air for the first time in months. Coma be damned, being stuck in a stuffy hospital that reeked of disinfectant was none too favorable. 

Oh, right. The hospital bill. He was  _ not _ looking forward to receiving that.

  
...Well, at least he was still alive, right? He'd have to thank Daisy. Michael wasn’t sure what would help him get the point across, but somehow, he doubted that knitting her something would be something she'd appreciate. Even if the biggest of his wounds were healed, he still had his neck, arm and a part of his head wrapped in bandage, so people threw half weirded out, half concerned glances at him when he took the bus home. Not having to walk all the way home was nice at least.

  
When Michael finally arrived home, he realized how tired he was, and how glad he was to be back. His home was left exactly the same way it was when he left, aside from the thin layer of dust which was growing in neglected corners. 

Oh well, he thought, he'd take care of it later. He plopped down on his couch in the living room,sighing and sitting motionless for a couple of minutes, before remembering that,oh right,he should let the others know he was released from the hospital. (He wondered if Gertrude worried about him.) His eyes laid upon his first contact  _ Martin Blackwood _ He decided to not beat around the bush and send him a rather straightforward message.

"Hey Martin! There's not really any other way to say it, but basically I woke up from my coma and I'm finally home :) Contrary to what I thought, being asleep for a month does not make you feel energized at all. 

  
Anyway, I hope the others told you why I wasn't showing up at the Institute during this. Hope you didn't do anything foolish like I just did.

  
Is everything okay on your side?"

He pressed send, and a few seconds after Martin's phone had received his message, his phone shut down. 

Right... Not charging your phone for so long ought to do that. He stood up to get his charger, plugged it in, and waited for it to charge. In the meantime, he decided to get dinner. It was with great disappointment he realized he had to throw almost everything from his fridge.

Leaving your food for a month untouched definitely meant they wouldn't be as fresh when you returned to it. 

  
He decided that he would deal with it tomorrow. Thankfully, he recalled he had some canned goods in his pantry. He decided he was going to eat some canned peaches(they can last surprisingly long without going bad, Michael noticed,) as he figured eating a heavy meal right after being released from the hospital would not be a good idea. 

He spent the next half hour eating the canned fruit at his own pace,sometimes stopping to think about the fact that he nearly died and should probably see a therapist about it in the near future. He didn't feel "scared" yet, but from what he heard, delayed reactions to something traumatizing weren’t exactly uncommon. He decided to keep that in mind, and once he was done eating, he threw the now empty can in his trash bin-- Ugh, he'd need to also take care of that tomorrow, preferably sooner than later. 

In the morning perhaps. 

Michael decided to go back to the couch, realizing only now that he left his half finished knitting project there. It was supposed to be a beanie, meant for Martin, and he was hoping to have it done... A month ago. Well, no better time than the present to work on it. Before Michael could get to it, his phone buzzed and Michael almost jumped. Ah... his phone must have finished charging. He decided to turn it back on, realizing Martin had already replied to his message. Delighted, he clicked on the notification.   
  
  


Michael's eyes grazed over the reply. As anticipated, the message read out fretful and excited, just as he remembered Martin behaving before his... less than ideal accident. But there was something off about it. He wasn't sure if it was just the gap of time between when they last spoke, but something just wasn't quite  _ right _ about the response. 

"Michael!!! Omg it's been so long, how are you feeling?? I've been fine, cooped up for a while over a bug but I'm so much better now :) I want to catch up though!! I have so much to tell you. Do you think you'd be okay with being around friends right now?" 

Michael blinked at the word 'friends.' Of course he would be, he missed talking and being around others, namely Martin. It would be maddening to stay at home on his own, and even if he said no, he knew Martin's mother-henning nature would conveniently leave his protests ignored. But for the life of him, he couldn't think of anyone else  _ except _ Martin that would want to come by. 

Some of his other coworkers, maybe? He quickly shook the thought away, deciding that he was overthinking it.

"Company sounds great, but fair warning that my flat is kind of gross rn. Turns out that month old food doesn't smell the best." 

Another ping. 

"No worries! I'm on my way, sit tight and don't fuss over cleaning. You need to relax, and friends help friends." 

Michael sighed at that, understanding that he was unable to argue against the suggestion. His fingers skitter around the keyboard to wish him safe travels, and he slumps down onto his old couch.   
  
With this in mind, Michael entirely forgot to send more messages to warn the others of his release from the hospital. Regardless, he'd much prefer to focus his thoughts on the upcoming visit of his dear friend. He hoped he didn't become too out of touch,since it  _ has _ been a month since they've talked. And they used to talk almost every day practically. Bit of a sudden change.

  
He already imagined how Martin would go full "mom friend" when arriving at his place, hoping Martin wouldn't offer to literally clean his fridge and trash bin once he arrived. Sure, he just got out from the hospital and would appreciate the help, but if Martin was sick to the point of having to stay cooped up at home just before, he didn’t exactly want him to give him extra work.   
  
The ring from his doorbell snaps him out of his current thoughts, not knowing how long exactly he was zoning out if Martin arrived so fast. He got up and went to open the door, and when he saw Martin standing there, he immediately went for a soft hug. After all, he can't exactly go too rough on his own body… He  _ did _ just leave the hospital after all.

  
"Martin! I'm so happy you actually came, it’s so good to see you!" Michael said, delighted. For a second however, the same feeling he had before when reading Martin's text decided to return, as Martin felt a bit...stiff to embrace. But he quickly disregarded that feeling when Martin hugged him back. 

  
"Of course, I told you I'd come, didn't I?" Martin seems to hug him a bit longer than necessary before releasing him. 

"May I come in?" 

"Oh, of course!" Michael held the door wide open for him to enter. When he closed the door behind them and locked it out of habit, he only then noticed the grey hoodie Martin was wearing, even covering his hair. It's odd, Michael told himself, it didn't really match Martin's usual fashion style. Did things change that much while he was out cold? 

"Say," Michael tentatively asks, "Is this hoodie new?"

"Hm? Oh well it has been rather cold, plus, I like to stay cozy."

Michael chose to not press the matter any further. Last thing he wanted was to pester Martin with useless questions. 

  
"Right," Michael said, feeling like some sort of tension was growing. He didn't like that. When they entered his living room,he noticed Martin looking around the room. Then Michael suddenly realized he forgot to put the half finished beanie away from Martin's sight. So he bolted to the couch and put a blanket over it. 

  
"Michael?" Martin asked, sounding puzzled, and Michael turned around and nervously said "It-its, uhm, its for a surprise! Yeah, you're not supposed to see it. Yet, anyway." He chuckled nervously, and Martin seemed to smile at him. 

"I don't think I saw anything at all." He said, obviously getting into Michael's game. Michael was grateful for that. 

  
"Should I make some tea? I'm pretty sure the bags didn't go bad at the very least." He should have a good stash left. 

  
"Actually,I think it'd be better if you rest while I make us some warm cups, alright?" 

"But, I mean, you're the guest--" 

  
Martin interrupted him before he could say anything else. "Michael, you literally got out from the hospital a few hours ago. So please sit on the couch and get some well deserved rest while I make the tea, alright? You deserve a break from all that." 

"I--W-well, I guess I can't say no to you, Martin." 

  
Martin smiles his usually warm, comforting smile, which basically translates to "Thank you for letting me take care of you." By this point, he is pretty familiar with it. Michael sat on the couch, careful to not sit on the incomplete beanie, and waited patiently for Martin to return with the tea as he headed toward the kitchen.

  
  
  
Martin shuffled across the linoleum floor, feeling an overwhelming amount of little bodies writhe underneath the fabric, all humming in irritation of being confined by the hoodie. Martin tenderly traced his fingers over a particularly active bunch near his chest to soothe them, to let them know that they would have another friend to sing to soon, they just needed to be patient. 

In the meantime, he fished out a kettle from one of the lower cabinets, going through the same routine that he used to do at the Institute. Martin briefly found himself longing to be back there again, if only to feel the joy he did for making tea for the others back in the break room. 

...Maybe for another day. Right now, he - no,  _ they _ \- needed to make sure that Michael was cared for. He sighed and leaned back on the counter, propping his arms on the cold counter. It was probably best to leave Michael unbothered until his tea was ready. 

So, he stood for a while and focused on enjoying the lovely serenade that played on beneath his flesh. Eventually, Martin was snapped out of his thoughts when he saw a few little winged bodies take off from underneath his sleeve and hovering near the kettle. Ah, the water was done. Nodding to the bees in thanks as they returned to him, Martin wasted no time in snagging two mugs to prepare the tea in. As the tea bags were steeping, he glanced back toward the living room, anxiety slowly oozing into his mind.

He's so close now, and doesn't want to mess up this opportunity. Michael did have the tendency to check up on Martin when he got bored. 

Thankfully, his friend's attention was directed to his phone instead of toward the kitchen. 

Perfect. 

There is a buzz of excitement resonating throughout Martin, and he smiles as he feels something rising up in the back of his throat. He grunts in slight discomfort as a sweet substance fills his mouth, and hundreds of tiny legs tap up the side of his neck in curiosity, eager to get a better look of what he was doing.

Martin felt a tickle in his throat, and he can't stop himself from letting out a cough. Luckily, he was fast enough to cover his mouth. As he removed his hand from his face, he observed a murky-gold syrup on it. Upon closer inspection, tiny pinpricks of life squirmed within it. 

  
"Well done,” he whispered aloud, giggling a bit as some of the bees preened at his praise. 

He fishes out a spoon from a drawer and raises a mug closer to his mouth, letting the thick liquid drip out from it, onto the spoon and then into the tea.

  
Upon giving it a quick stir, the water darkens slightly, but Martin decides that it wouldn't be too noticeable. Just in case of rousing suspicion, though, he spits some of the honey in his own tea, making it identical. Martin straightened himself before taking himself and the tea back over to Michael. 

Taking the hint, the little workers scurried back under the hoodie. 

  
"Tea's ready!" 

  
He offered a smile and a cup of tea to his friend, both which were taken gratefully. Michael blew on his tea, waiting until Martin sat down to actually drink it. But instead, he just... stood there. After an awkward moment, Michael lowered the tea slightly from his face. 

  
"Uh, you can sit down if you'd like, Martin." He assured, and Martin shook his head fondly.

  
"I'm okay, thanks. It's been a while since I've left the house, so I'll just stand." 

Fair enough, Michael supposed. 

  
"Oh, alright then..." Not wanting to press further, Michael busied himself with raising the tea to his lips.

  
Michael thought it was just his imagination when he felt that Martin's gaze was a bit too focused on him as he was about to drink the tea. Perhaps he was simply excited to share his tea with him after so long ! The tea was luckily cool enough for Michael to not wait any longer,so he did not wait anymore to start drinking. He took his first gulp, and the amber colored liquid washing down his throat, which he only noticed now was quite dry. 

  
It left an unusual aftertaste, to say the least. Part of it had this familiar and warm taste, remembering all the times Martin offered him a cup of his favorite tea after he had a particularly rough day, and offering to talk about it.

  
The other part felt like… It was overly sweet. Not quite in a nice way, but it felt like the tea was way sweeter than necessary. Had the honey Martin used gone bad somehow? He knew that it's impossible for honey to spoil on its own, and his stash was properly sealed. Or perhaps he had simply put too much? 

  
No, that wasn't it.

"Well?" Martin asked, pulling Michael out of his current train of thought, still not having touched his own tea. 

  
"Ah, well--" 

  
Michael looked down at his now half empty mug-- since when did he drink so much?

"It's good! It’s good..." Michael answered, not really sounding convincing.

"...But?" 

"It's just-" Michael was confused at his own nervousness. Sure, he was incapable of lying to Martin usually, but why was he so worked up over mere tea? 

"I really appreciate the fact you remembered my favorite tea brand." He smiled politely. Martin smiled back. 

  
"But, hm… did you... did you use your own honey for it? Or did you put more than the usual spoonfuls? I feel like it's way sweeter than it usually was, and-- o-oh, but I'm not saying it tastes bad, on the contrary!" 

  
At these words, Michael felt his throat going dry again. 

"Ah, well, I may have put in a bit more honey than usual… You did go a month without any sort of sugar after all." 

"Aha, I suppose it's your way of spoiling me, isn't it? Thank you for the tea, Martin."

A chuckle bubbled out from the other, and Martin shrugged. 

  
"It's not a big deal, really. I just wanted to make sure that you get back into the swing of things!"    
  
Michael hummed at that and took another sip of his drink. It was quiet for a moment, and for a split second, Michael could swear that he heard a strange noise. It was faint, but definitely there. It almost sounded like bees buzzing around in a hive. Martin nodded his head to silently gesture at Michael's wrapped up arm. 

  
"How are you taking to your, ah, injuries?" He prods gently, and the blonde swallows down more tea that he doesn't remember drinking. 

"Fine, I-I suppose. The pain comes and goes, but the doctors provided me some meds to help take care of that." 

  
Martin nodded along in sympathy, but didn't tear his eyes away from the bandages. For some reason that unsettled Michael, so he chased away the feeling with more tea. He decided to change the topic. 

  
"What - what about you, Martin? Being stuck at home sick must've been awful." 

Martin supposed that he would take the bait for now. 

"Yeah, it was rough for a while. I actually haven't really been back at the Institute for a while because of it. I'm much better now, though. Some friends actually came by to help take care of me, which was kind of them." He was able to tell that Michael felt guilty at that comment. 

  
"Yes, that is... I... I'm sorry I wasn't able to come by." 

Martin made an odd noise at that, and Michael looked up to see that he stared back at him as if he had said something stupid. 

"Michael, you were in the  _ hospital _ for Christ's sake! Worrying about not being able to visit me should be the last thing on your list of concerns!" He reasoned.

"Alright, fine. You have a point, but I at least want to make up for the lost time between us. I think it would be good for the both of us to readjust to everything." 

  
Martin's eyes crinkled into a smile. He wouldn't let Michael's total dismissal of his own health go unnoticed, but now wasn't really the time to lecture him. 

  
"Of course, I'd love that." Satisfied, Michael had another go at his cup, but seemed to realize that he had finished his tea. This was going better than expected. Martin didn't waste much time coming over to Michael's side to take the empty mug from his hand. He pressed his own ceramic in Michael's hand, and after a beat, the other realized what Martin was doing.

  
"I-oh, th-thank you, Martin! But I couldn't take yours, really, you've been kind enough to me already and---" 

  
He was quick to interrupt Michael's stammering. 

  
"Nonsense! Look, I insist. You need to keep yourself hydrated, and I can always make more, alright?" 

  
Michael turned his head upward to him, pleading eyes staring back at his determined ones. Finally, his shoulders slumped in defeat, and he reluctantly grabbed hold of the mug.

  
"There we go. I'll go set this over on the counter, yeah?" Before he left, Michael nodded and glanced down at the new helping of tea. During his quick trip, Martin scratched at his skin and adjusted his sleeve a bit. He noticed that one of the bees had burrowed another hole into his skin while he was talking. He briefly felt pride over the fact that he was becoming more homely to his bee friends by the day. Maybe they'd like making another home in Michael's wounds. Well, he'd just have to wait and see. Not wanting to rouse any concern from the other, Martin left the mug behind on the counter before returning back to Michael's side. He watched with patient interest as Michael nursed his second cup of tea.   
  
  


Michael started feeling a knot forming in his stomach. He deemed it as him being uneasy for no reason. 

Michael decided to take another swing of his tea, hoping it would help get rid of the uneasy feeling, but as he had a mouthful of lukewarm tea in his mouth, a sudden wave of nausea hit him hard and he sputtered,and bent forward in order to not just splash the tea all over the floor, and instead just spat it all back in the mug. 

  
"I'm--" 

  
Michael coughed suddenly, shakily holding the mug. 

  
"I'm so sorry, I don't-- I don't feel so good right now--" Michael started hitting his chest and began to heave frantically. 

He felt like something was clogging his throat. It did not feel like tea at all. Was it his imagination or did he feel it  _ move _ ? 

"Urgh--" 

  
Michael chokes violently and he drops the mug. It clatters on the ground, spilling whatever was left of the tea unto the rug. He pressed his hand on the coffee table right in front of him for support as he suddenly retched, arching his back, and the foreign object blocking his breathing came gushing from his mouth as he unceremoniously threw up on the small table in front of him. What just came out from his mouth looked nothing like the content from his stomach. Instead, it… 

  
Oh, God.

It looked like a puddle of a dark colored liquid, which awfully smells like sweet rot and rusted iron. 

Michael trembles as tears rushes to his eyes and he gasps and wheezes, looking with horror at what just came from his insides. He spots something small and white in the middle of the mess he just made. He naively thought it was a piece of peach he wasn't able to digest. But he feels like throwing up again when he realizes that in the growing dark puddle, the tiny white thing sitting there actually started to  _ squirm and wriggle _ with ferocity. The darken liquid started to drop from the table and onto the rug, seeping through it.

Michael realized with a visceral horror that this was, in fact, the larva of a bee. And it was very much alive and hungry. The man felt his stomach twist and turn at the sight. Michael frantically tried to gather his strength to get up and push himself away from the horrifying puddle, but his legs gave out and he stumbled backward on the floor. He still faced the table,and the shock made him cough and hack. 

  
"Hnk--" 

  
Michael wanted to scream, but the disgusting sight before him made his throat so tight that it was impossible to make any sort of shout.

Still in shock, he miserably looked up at Martin who has been standing there since the beginning, looking absolutely pleased judging from his expression. 

" _ Martin, _ '' Michael wheezed, feeling something crawling up his throat again, making him want to vomit a second time.

  
" _ Martin, w-what's happening?! _ " 

  
A part of Michael refused to think that he was the reason behind his alarming state.   
  


Martin took in Michael's current state with sheer delight. As he watched the first of the many,  _ many _ larvae rise up and out of his throat, he was able to hear the beginning of a beautiful symphony come from beyond Michael's panic. 

Martin lazily smiled down at him, and felt a sense of deja vu over the situation. He knew that Michael was afraid, but he would understand in time. All Martin had to do was just make sure that things went over smoothly. 

He crouched down to Michael's level, choosing not to acknowledge how he tried to create more distance between them. 

  
"Oh, Michael," He leaned forward to tuck a strand of blonde hair behind his ear. "Can't you tell by now? You are being  _ loved _ ." 

  
Michael tried to speak, but instead he choked on more larvae. They peeked out from his lips, squirming to get free to sing their praises to Michael. Martin glanced over to his left, realizing that one of his grubby friends was left forgotten on the table. That wouldn't do. Delicately, Martin plucked it out from the dark puddle, watching as it pulsed between his fingers and nipped at his skin. 

  
_"L-'loved.'.? Martin, I-- hgk-! I don't understand..!"_   
Michael finally said, gaining Martin's attention once more. 

  
Ah, right. Perhaps some context would be better? 

He reached out to Michael's palm, gingerly taking it in his own and plopped the plump thing inside of his palm. It eagerly started to burrow itself deep within it. 

  
"Do you remember me telling you that some friends helped me out when I was stuck at home?" Michael's face paled, and Martin knew that he pieced the context clues together. But he also knew that he wouldn't be able to truly understand if he didn't see  _ how _ he was being cared for. 

He tugged at his hood and let it fall unceremoniously. Michael's eyes widened at the sight, as did Martin's smile.

"Ever since you've been in the hospital, they've made sure to keep me company! And they wanted to do the same for you. I figured you needed a reminder of how worthy you are of love. And what better way to do that than to let you be embraced by theirs?" 

  
Michael wretched again, and Martin watched in rapt interest at his friend. Now he understood what Prentiss had meant about witnessing someone being taken by the Hive.    
_ "What-- what happened to you?" _ Martin tilted his head in confusion before letting his hand wander up to his face. His fingers grazed the rough strip of a bandage.    
"Oh, these?" He asked innocently. "Well, I didn't want to ruin the surprise. That, and, well. I'm sure you've been able to tell that our little friends here can get a bit... messy." As if it were to accentuate his point, when Martin pulled his hand away, he found that his fingers had flakes of crusted blood on them. 

A warbling whimper came from Michael. With a deep sense of pride, Martin watched as the larvae began to carve shallow holes into his trembling form. He found himself unconsciously humming along to the sickly sweet tune that played in his head. 

Martin had joyfully realized that he wouldn't be the only one hearing it for long, and as dozens of bodies bloomed out from under his hoodie, he stared at Michael with an almost childlike glee. "Are you able to hear them? They're so excited to be with you. To be with  _ us _ !"

Michael was not able to register Martin's latest words. Or rather, he refused to. Michael was too paralyzed by a visceral fear to react when Martin had gently grabbed his hand to merely give him back the larva that he ejected from his body just before. However,he yelped when he felt the larva starting to bite at his skin.    
Then it proceeded to burrow inside Michael's hand,seeking warmth from his body in order to grow. Michael desperately clawed and scratched until he bled at his pierced palm to dislodge the larva, but it was already in too deep within his flesh.    
"No-- No no no no--"    
He could only watch in pure terror and agony as a tiny bump was quickly travelling from his palm,to the length of his arm.    
And after just a few seconds, an actual, grown, live bee teared a hole through his skin, peeking out from a hexagon shaped hole. He suddenly realized how itchy his entire body had become. 

He could hear a deafening buzzing sound when this horrifying spawn came out of his body. He could already imagine how many more were going to eat through him and grow to be monsters like this one. Like whatever was living inside Martin's right now. Before Martin could react, Michael swiftly swiped the newborn worker off his arm,landing on the ground with a distressed buzz, and Michael clenched his fist-- so tightly he might as well cut his blood circulation-- and aimed to crush the bee wriggling on the ground with his fist. If he was going to die, then he would kill as many of these monsters as possible.    
_ These were anything but normal insects. _

Before he could feel the inevitable  _ pop _ of the struggling body under his fist, he felt something grab hold of his wrist.   
Hard. 

Out of shock, Michael's hand opened back up, unwillingly sparing the young bee.   
His breath came in short bursts, and in his swimming panic, Michael looked up to see Martin glaring at him with a fury he had never seen before. 

**_"What. Are you? Doing?"_**   
He growled, and Michael finally realized that it was Martin's hand that was clasped around him with an iron grip. Thoroughly frightened at the situation, feeling as if he should somehow explain himself to justify his action, but his tongue wouldn't stop stumbling in his mouth.   
_"I-I-I was j-just, I--!"_   
Martin squeezed a bit tighter, and Michael winced in pain. It was clear that he struck a nerve. 

But more of those... those _things_ kept crawling on him, and Michael struggled to knock off as many as he could with his free hand.   
_"G-get off!"_   
He cried out, voice long gone hoarse from all that his throat had been through. Martin made another hostile noise at that, and as soon as he blinked, Michael found himself pulled toward his friend (was he his friend anymore?) by his shirt collar. 

Something rumbled within Martin, and Michael realized that there were more bugs swarming out from him. They eagerly crawled down his arms and onto his own body. He couldn't do anything more than helplessly struggle in Martin's grasp.   
**_"Don't you dare hurt them."_**   
His warning practically dripped with venom. Michael trembled, feeling dwarfed by the infested man before him who took the opportunity to loom over him. Something that the real Martin would never think about doing to anyone. 

But this wasn't really Martin anymore, was it? 

The grip around his shirt suddenly left and Michael fell back onto the floor. He scrambled to prop himself back up on his elbows, and he did his best to ignore the horrible stinging and aching pain that seeped all the way down into his bones. Martin's glare only softened minutely.

  
The bug that Michael previously tried to kill ended up flying off and joining the ever swarming mass of bees within Martin's body.    
The Hive wasn't too pleased with his stunt.    
And it showed its discontentment.    
A buzz seemed to echo through the room,and it sounded  _ angry _ . This definitely was not the Martin he had come to appreciate and love. There was absolutely no way, Michael realized, as a loud humming noise scratched at his eardrums (or was it the bugs scratching quite literally the insides of his skull?) that he would never be able to pull Martin from this… awful Hive mind situation. 

Michael lost his best friend to the Hive. And Martin wanted Michael to join him. 

He didn't want that.    
He wanted to  _ live _ .   
Michael choked on more tears, feeling more larvaes trying to dig their way out of his mouth. The wounded man rapidly propped himself up with great pain, crying out due to the many hexagon shaped holes covering his arms. Michael knew they wouldn't stop appearing. He threw himself onto the couch right where he had left his phone and pressed ‘dial’ on the nearest contact on his list. 

If he had a few seconds to warn someone, it would have to be Jon, it seemed. 

After pressing the button,Michael tried distancing himself as much as he could from Martin, expecting him to take his phone away from him. He unfortunately couldn't rely on his legs too much,pierced everywhere by those bugs. The beeping noise resonated through the room, leading to believe Jon was not gonna pick up, and led to his voicemail. 

Michael began to scream frantically into the device. 

" _ JON!! _ "    
Michael stumbled back with the phone pressed against his ear, seeing Martin approaching him. " _ Jon I'm begging you, please pick up! It's Martin, he was-- the Corruption,it-- ack _ !"   
Michael choked on more larvae, the latter gushing from his mouth, coated in a dark syrupy substance.

Being mindful of the bees that crawled out from his mouth, Martin grit his teeth. He was willing to try and forgive Michael for that first mistake. He wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt that he just didn't quite  _ understand _ how to take care of the Hive. But then he called Jon. 

Of course he knew that he wasn't going to answer, both he and Michael were well aware that he rather liked ignoring others whenever he had the chance to. 

And even if that wasn't the case, Jon hardly had a strong enough attachment to his phone to bother being near it all the time. It wasn't until Michael screamed for Jon when he realized that these little facts did not matter. 

He could see him freeze in his tracks the moment Martin took a step closer. It seemed that he was still recovering from his last episode of vomiting. Michael took in another shuddering breath, no doubt to continue his plea for help. 

White hot rage prodded at Martin from within, and in one swift motion he swiped the phone away from Michael.   
_"NO!"_   
He screamed out, floundering to take back his one form of communication with the outside world. Martin glanced down at the screen, now smeared with a filthy black substance.   
_"I'm going to die, Jon! Martin isn't himself anymore-"_

 ** _"That's enough."_**   
Martin hissed. He deftly pressed the 'End Call' button, relishing how Michael's face fell in horror at the sight. 

The phone was tossed across the flat, and clattered somewhere that Martin didn't deem worthy to care about right now.    
**_"I don't understand, Michael. We are friends, aren't we?_ ** He shambled forward, and the other clawed himself backwards.    
**_"I'm only trying to help you. You deserve to be a part of something more than just... just, archiving until you drop dead! I wanted to give you a way out from that! But you are testing. My. Patience."_ ** **_  
  
_ **

Michael could kiss his only form of communication with the outside world goodbye.   
He realized that his chances at escaping, let alone surviving this encounter, were getting slimmer by the minute. No,seconds would be more accurate. Even after Martin had thrown his phone away, he still neared dangerously close to him,and Michael vainly tried to back off,until his back hit a wall.    
Dead end.    
He whimpered pathetically when Martin stood right in front of him,still angered from his previous stunts.    
"Martin, I- I--"    
Martin was still glaring at him.Michael chokes on more larvaes. He wipes the dark substance from his lips.    
"I'm so sorry, Martin." 

" _ For what exactly? _ "    
Martin pressed. Perhaps Michael was finally getting some sense into him. Perhaps he finally wanted to apologize for his previous behavior and he'd be willing to join him.    
"I'm sorry for being so stupid and getting myself stuck to the hospital. If I hadn't done that,then I could have saved you from the corruption." Martin remained impassible at Michael's apology. " _ You really don't get it, do you? _ " 

"No,you're the one who doesn't get it. I'm sorry Martin--hngk-- but... I can't join you. I'm sorry.” Before Martin could reply, Michael pushed himself from the wall,avoiding Martin, narrowly avoiding him aiming to grab at his arm. Michael bolted and he heard Martin hiss angrily behind him. He must have realized that his goal was to reach the door of his home and get out of here. " **Michael!** "    
He called out,his voice drowned out by the angry buzz of a thousand bees.    
" **Come back right there or you'll regret it!** " He didn't need to look back to know Martin was already giving him chase through his home. 

The insects droned near his ears as he was running for his life. He panted, trying to convince his brain that the current parasites in his body were not, in fact, the ones causing this aching pain in his lungs and were definitely not burrowing themselves through the walls of his organs.

Michael was so close to the door. He could already imagine his hand on the knob and pulling it. But that feeling never came.    
As he ran toward the door,he tripped over nothing and came crashing down  _ hard _ on the floor. He gasped harshly, and felt like he couldn't get his legs to obey anymore. Now was definitely  _ not _ the time to freeze up. Angered at himself, he glanced back at his legs, and with a horrible realization, he understood why they suddenly gave up.    
They were absolutely swarmed with bees, and as for the skin that wasn't covered in bugs, they were entirely covered with geometric shaped holes, cutting off his nerves and muscles, basically rendering his legs useless lumps of oozing, infected flesh, only good for bee chow at this point. The bees seemed to take pleasure in burrowing their mandibles through his long legs and feeding off his flesh. 

(It was fine.They could always rebuild their new Hive at a later point.)

The adrenaline must have prevented him from feeling them digging through his flesh.    
Michael threw up again,drowning a growing whimper in his throat.   
No, he told himself. He couldn't - wouldn't - just give up right then and there. He needed...to keep going. 

Michael miserably dragged himself across the floor, leaving a dark, rotting trail behind him that dripped from his infested legs. He reached the door, but with being unable to feel anything anymore in his legs,it meant he had to somehow prop himself up in order to reach the knob. His body flared up in pain as he used his wounded arms to sit up, choking on his tears. Then Michael reached his arm to the knob and tried pulling it, a short burst of relief fluttering in his chest. His escape was merely inches away from him. He’ll be able to leave this living nightmare behind.   
But the door wouldn't budge.   
It was locked.   
He widened his eyes, refusing to accept this reality, and ended up struggling and pulling the knob so hard, he might as well dislocate his shoulder.   
"No--" 

Hot tears started falling from his eyes when he heard Martin step right behind him. Martin removed his hoodie and tossed the fabric aside, a few bees exiting the fabric once it was disregarded. But most of them were already on him.    
" **I gave you plenty of chances, Michael.** "    
He walked over to him, standing right next to the half eaten man.    
" **I do not know what to do with you anymore since you keep refusing my help."**

Michael whimpered, releasing the knob, and pathetically curled into a ball against his only hope of escape.He refused to look at the tormentor he used to call his best friend.    
He's heartbroken. He's terrified. He's.... 

.... 

An awful yet harmonious droning sound thrummed inside his brain.   
It sounded like...A melody.   
Like someone humming a tune that was meant just for him. A gift.   
Suddenly, it felt like he was back at his childhood home. He still remembers his mom playing the piano for him, and sees himself, as a child, with his head on her lap, falling asleep to her music during a warm afternoon.   
Michael's body twitched and he tentatively looked up at Martin's face, the latter having disregarded the bandages he wore to hide the numerous holes on his cheeks, bees coming in and out as they pleased. His lips weren't moving.    
Delirious with despair and grief, Michael sputtered, more of that poisonous syrup dripping from his lips. "Are you-- hkk… making that sound...?"   
  


For a moment, there was a buzzing silence. Martin had stopped in his tracks entirely, now hopeful.   
Maybe Michael was still worthy of love after all.   
**"What?"**   
Martin asked evenly as he crouched down to his friend's level. Something other than bugs caused his chest to flutter. He was excited. Perhaps he was too quick to assume that his efforts were fruitless. Martin leaned forward to study Michael's face intently.   
**"Making what sound, Michael?"** He pressed, watching as the other thought about his next words carefully. 

"I- t-th-the song! it's... it's so--" 

**"Beautiful, isn't it?"** Michael didn't dare share his own opinion. That was fine. Martin already knew his answer. But he also knew that he wasn't  _ quite _ finished with his work yet. He glanced down at Michael's bandages, squinting his eyes in distaste. There was still the issue of something (the Hunt, several voices supplied) still keeping Michael from becoming fully consumed by their love. 

That won't do. 

With a huff, Martin destroyed the distance between them that Michael worked so hard to preserve. Michael yelped when he neared him.   
Martin pressed a hand against his chest, pinning him with an odd gentleness to the floor, to ensure he wouldn't try to crawl away again. Michael didn't have any strength left to properly gasp, his breathing becoming slower and slower.   
Martin began to tear away at the wrappings on his body.   
Predictably, Michael struggled against him, but he was much too weak now to do anything more than be a nuisance.   
"A-agh! N-no,wait, please--!" 

**"Quiet, Michael."**   
Martin said gently, busying himself with loosening up the bandages.   
**"Just relax. Listen to their song, and this will all be over soon. I might even consider forgiving you for all of the trouble you caused!"**   
Michael continued to cry and fuss, but it did nothing to help stave off the burrowing creatures that chewed on his scars.   
**"The Hunt would have done far less to keep you safe. But we..."** Martin traced his fingers across one of the many honeycomb shaped holes. Dark ooze flowed through freely. With a wistful sigh, Martin looked up at Michael's shell shocked face,eyes full of tears.   
**"We can give you a new home. And we will make sure that you are constantly reminded of how loved you truly are."**

As Martin's fingers weaved themselves beneath the gauze, he began to hum along to the melody that echoed in his mind. He ignored the broken sobs that came from Michael.   
Instead, he focused on listening more closely on the other noise coming from him. It was faint, but it caused a wave of relief wash over Martin. A trilling, delicate song filtered its way out from Michael's pitted skin, and it only got louder the more that the larva erased the Hunt's marks. They were ugly anyway. And as a good friend, Martin made sure that if his friend were to have any lasting scars, that they would be beautiful. 

Geometric structures now began to dot themselves closer to Michael's face, matching Martin's own. He couldn't help but chuckle at the sight. **  
****"You are going to fit in just fine."** **  
**The next bout of tears that Michael shed didn't come out clear. Instead, a murky grey-ish substance dripped down his face, which some of the hungry bees lapped up eagerly.

"M-Martin... I-it hurt--"    
Michael whimpered pitifully.    
As soon as Martin ripped away the first bandages,the loving bugs wasted no time to make these bite mark shaped scars their new home.The trademark brand of the hunt situated on Michael's neck looked less and less like a bite, and more like the insides of a bee hive. No, his entire throat had become akin to a bee nest. 

He wanted to whimper again, but only a gurgle came out from his mouth,a dark honey gushing from the many holes in his throat. 

The song only grew louder. Louder and louder. Blocking his ears to stop himself from hearing this melody would be useless,as he somehow already understood this was coming from deep within him.   
Michael trembled, and Martin sat down next to him, carefully sliding punctured hands under Michael, softly dragging him into his lap and holding him gently, cradling him to the rhythm of their song, which now sounded more and more like a lullaby.   
**"Everything's okay now, Michael."** The hollow husk that was once Martin said,holding Michael against his chest.   
" **You hear their song, right? They've accepted you. They forgave you. They love you. All you need to do now... is accept them.”** **  
** **“ Forget the others. They were never good to you in the first place."**   
Martin hissed out the latest part with more of a buzzing anger than needed, but still maintained a soft grip on Michael.   
Of course. Maybe Michael had just been too scared since the start.  
The Hunt had left a nasty mark on him. Michael reeked of it. But now, he smelled just like him.   
  
Like honey and rot.  
  


Just like the Hive.    
  
Michael weakly clutched Martin's shoulders. A strangled, low groan left his throat instead of his mouth.

He felt Martin pressing him with more force against his infested body. More of those starving yet adoring bugs exited their walking colony at the pressure and they crawled all over his body, and Michael could tell how each of them individually squirmed to crawl inside each holes.   
_ He could feel them all. _

Michael had forgotten about the burning itch eating up his entire body. He had forgotten about the hurt when the bees chewed through his legs and made him fall.    
He forgave them.

And they forgave him. 

With his head pressed on Martin's shoulder, Michael felt himself sinking.   
He didn't have the strength to embrace Martin back yet.    
But it was okay, the bees told him. He just needed to sleep.   
And when he woke up, he would be a new child of the Hive.    
Moreso, he would be loved and adored for who he really is.    
Contrary to that horrible old woman.    
Michael's eyes slowly closed, his body slumping against Martin's. 

His last breath of his old life left his body. Martin tenderly hugged Michael, never having stopped humming their song.    
  
  


" **We love you, Michael.** "   


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! :>  
> We hope you enjoyed,so please let us know your thoughts in the comments on this second chapter, we'd love to hear your feedback ! <3  
> Come talk to us on Tumblr !  
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**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!  
> Please let us know your thoughts on this first chapter, we'd love to hear your feedback ! <3  
> Come talk to us on Tumblr!  
> Tai: http://simpirals.tumblr.com/  
> Kal: https://stellarwhaleshark.tumblr.com/


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